Tom was closing Byrnes's door behind him when the chief called after him, “Say, Tom, do you know a cop named Zimmer?” Braddock stopped for an instant, wondering about the cop he left in a heap on Thirty-sixth Street.
“Zimmer? No, don't think so. Why?”
Byrnes let the ghost of a smile pass across his face. Tom didn't catch it. “Oh, nothing. Not important.”
M
att and Earl didn't know a damn thing about electricity. They didn't really need to. Workers from the U.S. Illuminating Company did the actual wiring. Matt and Earl had been assigned to mount the pipe that the wires would run through. They knew enough about pipe fitting to pass muster and watched the other pipe fitters for the stuff they didn't know. On the first day they spent a lot of time looking for ways to run their wire without the foremen or electricians seeing it. They realized quickly that simply having jobs on the lighting crew didn't help much. The plan, at least in principle, was simple. The wiring for the lamps on the bridge ran back to the dynamo room under the Brooklyn approach. If they could figure a way to run their wire along with the wire for the lights, they could set up in the big vaulted room under the roadway in Brooklyn. The bridge could be blown safely from there. They would be completely concealed, secure from prying eyes or curious cops. As part of the wiring crew, Matt and Earl had complete access to
the power station, which was next to the approach and the engine room itself. Nobody would question their presence, and they'd have access to the keys, so they could come and go as they pleased. The trains wouldn't run until September. The only thing the power plant was needed for at this time of year was the lighting. In late May, it stayed light until at least seven even on a cloudy day, so the men who worked in the power plant didn't come in until five. They would fire up the boilers and, after they had a head of steam, they'd engage the dynamos. The captain's plan was to blow the bridge at no later than four.
But running the wire was going to be tricky. Electricians from the contractor were overseeing the work. They watched everything, every joint in the conduit, every connection and fitting. Where the main lines split off to the individual lamps, they paid special attention to the wire connections, which they made themselves. Matt and Earl were just doing the grunt work. They had been prepared for that. Once they knew they'd be assigned to the work, they spent a lot of time planning how best to run their wire, but planning was one thing and doing was another.
Earl had told the captain his worries after their first day. “It just can't be done, Cap'n. We make one wrong move an' they'll be down on us like fleas on a hound's back.”
Thaddeus had turned to Matt for his opinion, and he'd echoed Earl. “He's right, Captain. Earl and I've been studying the plans Bart copied for us. Havin' a hard time figuring how we can run detonator wire under their noses without someone seeing.”
“Yeah. I think they might get a little curious, they see us stringin' some extra wire,” Earl drawled sarcastically.
Thaddeus didn't want to hear it. “All right, all right. I know all that. It's got to be done, though. Running our wire this way will save hours. You want to be exposed out on the bridge for any longer than absolutely necessary?”
Earl shook his head, already dreading the time they'd have to spend setting charges. “No, but this way's right in front of âem. Ye talk about bein' exposed. Hell, that's as exposed as it gets.” The captain wouldn't accept that there was no way this would work. He stooped over the plans, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, frowning down at the drawings intensely.
“Let's go over it again. There's something here we're not seeing, some detail we've overlooked,” Thaddeus said, almost as if he was talking to himself.
“I don't know, Cap'n,” Earl said, scratching his head. “Might sound crazy, but the thing comes to mind is when I used to go âtween the lines, huntin' Yankee skirmishers.”
The captain looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.
“How's that help?” he asked with a skeptical twist to his mouth.
“Ah don' know exactly,” Earl said. The words for things didn't always come easy for him. “It's just that sometimes it was best to hide in plain sight. Like they see ya, but they don' see ya. If we could maybe think about
not
tryin' to hide what we're doin' so much, maybe we'd come onto somethin'.”
It was another hour or more before they decided on it. It was Sullivan who finally came up with the plan.
“We'll need to talk to the electrical foreman first, but what if they were going to add more lights a couple of years from now? They'd have to run more wire, right? Well, suppose we suggest that they run two more wires in the conduit? Makes sense. Suggest they can be used for some future project without having to run more pipe. We gotta put it to them like it would save them thousands of dollars, which I guess it would if we didn't blow up their damn bridge,” Pat said with a shrug.
“Are you suggesting that we tell them about our wire?” Thad asked. He was having trouble with the concept.
“But it doesn't have to be
our
wire.
It's their
wire. Let them run it for us,” Pat said, clearly convinced this was the way to go. “Hell, we just came up with an idea that'll save thousands in the long run. Ought to thank us.”
Lincoln was the one to voice what they all feared. “Suppose they don't like the idea?”
Sullivan threw up his hands. “No worse shape than we are now, Jus. Besides, I've got another idea in case this one don't work.”
The captain smiled slowly. Sullivan never disappointed. The sergeant had been like a rock for all of them down the years. He always came through in a pinch. Steady, smart, resourceful, daring, Sullivan was in a lot of ways the best of them.
“And your contingency plan â¦?” Thaddeus asked.
“Well, if they don't want to run extra wire, we leave a snake in the conduit. When we set charges, we just open the nearest junction and pull our wire through from the dynamo room,” Pat explained. “It'll take more time, but not more than say fifteen, twenty minutes when the time comes.” They all liked the sound of that, though there was more of a problem of secrecy if they had to do it that way. Jacobs had his doubts. He didn't see how Matt and Earl would be able to leave a thin wire snake in the conduit without a foreman catching it.
“Suppose neither idea works, what then?” he posited, looking over his glasses at the rest.
“I'll let you boys come up with that. I'm fresh out for tonight,” said Sullivan.
“Guess we could always just string wire the night we set the charges, but that don't have much goin' for it,” he said, shaking his head. “They're gonna have cops just for the bridge and right now we've got no way of knowing what their patrol schedule wilt be. Hell, they might not patrol at all after midnight. I just don't want to be running wire out there and have some cop tappin' me on the shoulder.”
Nobody disagreed with that. For now they basically just needed to plant the seed with the lighting company, probably with a foreman. They'd just have to hope the idea took off.
“If they don't get the idea, maybe nudge a bit,” Matt said. They didn't want to appear to be pushing too hard, though, fearing to raise suspicions.
“I like it, Matt,” Thaddeus said. “If it works, they'll be doing the work for us, making our jobs a whole lot safer in the bargain. Approved, gentlemen. Matt, you take the lead on this with the contractor. Look for an opportunity to engage the foreman tomorrow, and let's get it moving before too much wiring gets done.”
“Right,” Matt said, smiling.
Thaddeus moved on.
“I've got some news on the explosives,” he said brightly.
Earl grunted. “Can't use a couple of sticks like we did at Prospect. Gonna need a wagonload, right?”
Thaddeus nodded. “You're right, but it's not as bad as we thought it might be. Richmond sent an estimate of both the individual charges we'll need to blow components and for the total. So ⦠for example, the places where the main cables meet the roadway support beams, we'll need to pack eight sticks around each. Here's how it should be laid out, three on either side of the cable on top of the beam and one on either end.”
“We're gonna make some noise!” Earl observed sarcastically.
The captain's eyes glowed. A smile flitted across his face, touching the edges of the mouth and setting the eyes alight. He sat like that, lost in some private world of retribution for some seconds. The rest could only imagine the things he saw. Snapping back, he looked around the room, blinking like an owl, almost as if he were surprised to see them.
“Ah ⦠yes, so there's eight each and, what, twenty-six cable connections we want to blow? So that's a little over two hundred sticks. Now, that is not including the charges for the stays.”
“What do they say it'll take to blow them, Captain?”
“Pat, the estimate is for twenty at each one of the pivot connections. That's another forty total at each tower.”
“What about the stays that run over the tower? They reach out farthest,” Sullivan asked.
“Right,” the captain said, checking his notes. “Here it is. Ah ⦠sixteen packed around them where they cross the saddle. Says we'll need less there because the blast will be more contained.” Thad was grateful beyond measure to his backers in Richmond. Without them they'd be guessing at the charges.
“We'll need a light wagon, or a carriage, something like that,” Sullivan said, breaking into his thoughts.
Thad had considered this already. “I'm thinking we should split up. Be less conspicuous. Use a carriage
and
a wagon. Drive onto the bridge from either side. Six men in one wagon at two in the morning might draw attention.”
“Got a point, Cap'n,” Earl muttered.
It was agreed that the captain and Jacobs would be the drivers. Neither had any experience working on the structure, and their presence would only be a hindrance.
“So you'll keep watch on either side for patrols?” Sullivan paused, thinking about this arrangement. “Won't give us much of a warning if you have to hightail it back to center span. You'll need to keep a sharp eye. Still and all, I think it's a better use of a man than setting charges.” The discussion went on like that for some time. Any device to save time was examined closely. Everything from shoes with India-rubber soles, to how they might bundle charges beforehand, to color-coding and premeasurement of wire was discussed. Jacobs made up lists of what they'd need to buy over the next few weeks. It would take time to collect everything. They didn't want to buy it all from one supplier.
One idea that seemed to hold promise was something Earl came up with.
“Y'all recall when we blew that trestle inâwhat was it, June '64? Didn't have nothin' to tie the charges in place. Used clay from the riverbank. Remember that one?”
“Sure. Blew that son of a bitch right out from under them! Worked damn good in a pinch.”
Thaddeus remembered the incident too. He turned to Jacobs, saying, “Find out where we can get some clay in a color just like the paint on the bridge.”
Jacobs grinned while he scribbled. They went on like that well into the night.
The next morning Matt sidled up to the foreman on the electrical crew and tried planting the seed. It didn't go quite as they had planned.
M
ike couldn't remember when he had been quite so miserable. Even when he was in the basement of the Thirteenth Precinct, he didn't think he
felt so low. School was torture. His teacher, Mrs. Greable, was working him like a farmer whose mules had died. He was so far behind the rest of the class that he spent most of his time feeling stupid and red-faced. Mrs. Greable was not one to hold back when it came to the flat of a ruler either. The pain he could take. He'd had worse. But the teacher didn't spare him a cutting word either. “Nincompoop” seemed to be her favorite for him. It was a word the rest of the class took a real liking to. The giggles and snickers cut Mike worse than the silly word itself. He wasn't even sure it was a word. Whatever it was, it was his, and he wore it like the ancient mariner wore his albatross. The girls in class had taken to calling him “Ninny.” The boys just called him “Poop.”
Mike knew he wasn't stupid. He knew he was smarter than most of the kids in class in lots of ways. The trouble was that a lot of what he knew had nothing to do with ciphering or reading and writing. One of his biggest fears and humiliations was to read in front of the class. He
sounded
stupid. He
felt
stupid. He
was
stupid as far as the other kids could see. He really regretted making his deal with Mr. Braddock. He couldn't imagine the circus was worth what he'd endured the last few days. As he sat on a stool in the corner, a dunce cap on his head, he tried to imagine just how big Jumbo the elephant was. He pictured the giant packy-derm wrapping its leathery trunk around Mrs. Greable's nunnish body. He imagined what her screams would sound like. Would she scream real loud, or just sort of gurgle as Jumbo's trunk squeezed the air out of her? He tried to picture one of Jumbo's massive feet on her head and wondered what a head like hers would sound like getting crushed. The thought of Mrs. Greable's head squashed like a grape made him feel a little better.